Page 64 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to see you walk,” Ambrose replies boldly.

Harrison presses his lips together. “I don’t feel like it.”

Ambrose bends over. “Alexis, sweetie, go kick your daddy in the ankle.”

Alexis’s eyes go wide with horror. “Pardon me?” she says in a small voice.

Ambrose pats the top of her head. “I’m just kidding, sweetie.”

I raise my hands up in protest. “Can we agree not to do that? Not to use the kids to make a point?”

“Yeah, fine, fine,” Ambrose agrees begrudgingly.

“Low blow, man,” Harrison scoffs.

“Fine, I’ll just come right out. You sprained your ankle.”

“PSSHHHHHT.”

Boone gasps. “You did what? Did you?”

I walk over to Harrison, feeling an ache in my heart that I don’t understand. Did he? His eyes track me as I move forward. When I get there, I fall to my knees and run my hands down the sides of his calves. It’s like kneeling next to a wounded horse.

“You did,” Ambrose continues. “You sprained your ankle when you fell through the floorboard, didn’t you?”

Harrison tries to shift away when I pull at the cuff of his work pants, but he can’t get very far. Even before I get his sock down, I can see the swelling.

“Oh, honey,” I sigh. “Does it hurt very bad?”

“Did he break it? Can you move it?”

Harrison flexes his ankle about an inch in either direction, gritting his teeth the whole time. “There! You happy?”

“I am the farthest thing from happy,” Ambrose admits as he flops onto the sofa.

“At least you didn’t break it, baby,” I coo, standing up again. “Come sit on the sofa. I will look for some Ace bandages in the bathroom.”

“Daddy, you have to elevate it,” Alexis informs him in a brusque tone.

Harrison hobbles over to the sofa and sits down, clearly defeated. When Alexis brings him a footstool, he gives her a smile tinged with sadness.

“Is not a big deal,” he consoles her. “I’ve sprained my ankle before. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“You’ll be fine in five days to three weeks, if history is any indication,” Ambrose says, sucking his teeth.

Hurrying through the kitchen, their voices die out behind me as I near the bathroom. Do we have ice? I have to check that. But first, I open the cabinet doors under the bathroom sink, happy to find that there are baskets of supplies. Shampoo, soap, all that good stuff. Even toothpaste and toothbrushes in new packaging, with brand names I have never heard of.

A white box labeled “first aid” gleams in the darkness. I pull it out, and my heart leaps when I find there are Band-Aids of every kind, salves, ointments, scissors, and tape. Not only are there Ace bandages, there are compression cuffs made just for elbows, ankles, and knees.

It’s like they read my mind. I guess whoever stocked this was expecting fairly clumsy guests.

With my arms stuffed full of supplies, I hurry back into the kitchen and fling open the freezer door. The old-fashioned ice pack fills up quickly with the fat, foggy cubes.

“Let me help you with that,” Boone offers when I reenter the parlor.

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